


"Then You Can Start to Make It Better"

by destielismylovesong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielismylovesong/pseuds/destielismylovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you know she used to sing me to sleep with ‘Hey Jude’?" he asks, his voice rasping. Cas gets up slowly from the comfy chair, careful not to make any sudden moves.</p>
<p>”Your mother,” he states quietly, sitting next to Dean on the couch. He’s cautious, knowing he can’t touch, not yet, even though he’s desperate to. To touch, to comfort, to take Dean into his arms and take the pain away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Then You Can Start to Make It Better"

**Author's Note:**

> On [ Tumblr ](http://ninetypercentgrace.tumblr.com/post/57016550728/dean-cas-asks-standing-by-entrance-to-the-den)

"Dean?" Cas asks, standing by entrance to the den. He cocks his head, concerned as he takes in Dean’s rigid posture where he sits on the couch. “Why aren’t you in bed?"

Dean doesn’t answer, and Cas knows it’s another bad night. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes the screams of hell in Dean’s mind are so strong that he can’t sleep. He can barely stand to be touched, and it takes him a while to even be able to speak. The screams are so loud, he’d explained once to Cas after a bad episode, he can’t even think over the noise.

Cas moves towards the comfy chair, situated on the other side of the couch, across from where Dean sits. The fallen angel stays with him for three hours without moving, even though every shift of Dean’s body almost has him jumping out of his chair. Every clenched fist, every nail dug into flesh, every grimace, every bite of his lips. But Cas knows better, knows that he’d only make it worse if he tried to make it better.

Finally, at four in the morning, Dean speaks.

"Do you know she used to sing me to sleep with ‘Hey Jude’?" he asks, his voice rasping. Cas gets up slowly from the comfy chair, careful not to make any sudden moves.

”Your mother,” he states quietly, sitting next to Dean on the couch. He’s cautious, knowing he can’t touch, not yet, even though he’s desperate to. To touch, to comfort, to take Dean into his arms and take the pain away.

"She used to sing it to me to put me to sleep," Dean continues, almost oblivious to Cas’s presence. “When I was in hell, I held on to it. To the memories, as fuzzy as they were."

Cas fights the knot that’s forming in his throat, the tears that spring to his eyes. He takes what he knows to be the next step in helping Dean out of this, and holds out his hand. Dean’s eyes are drawn to it, and he stares at it, even as he keeps his own hands to himself.

"I held on so tightly that Alastair figured it out," Dean whispers, and a tear falls down Cas’s cheek. “I could barely remember her before, but now…" Dean closes his eyes. “I haven’t been able to hear her voice in my head without Alastair’s poisoning it."

"Dean," Cas murmurs. Dean turns to him, meeting his eyes. His own are almost black from grief in the darkness of the room.

"Are you here?" he asks, his voice haunted, soft. “Cas, are you-" He chokes back the words and closes his eyes, and Cas waits patiently for Dean to take his outstretched hand.

When he does, a few moments later, Cas encloses Dean’s hand in his own and turns to him. He takes his other hand and brings them both to rest above his heart.

"I’m here," he says, forcing his voice not to waver. “Your brother is too. So was your father. And your mother. Her voice. Her love for you. Hey Jude. It’s all real. We’re all real, Dean."

Dean opens his eyes, and for the first time since they’d gone to bed hours before, the forest in them is a clear green, unmuddied by grief or torture.

"Come," Cas says softly, tugging at Dean’s hands. He stands, pulling Dean up, and leads him out of the den. Dean follows, his hand gripping Cas’s tightly as they walk down the long hallway and step into their room. Dean pauses at their bed, but Cas lies down and tugs at his hands again.

After a moment’s hesitation, Dean gets into bed, pulling the covers over them and burrowing into the warmth of Cas’s body. Cas wraps his arms around him, his lips at Dean’s ear. He hesitates, and then throws caution to the wind.

"Hey Jude," he starts to sing, "don’t make it bad." Dean’s fingers instantly dig into his side and then slowly ease back as Cas continues, "Take a sad song, and make it better." Dean’s entire body begins to relax as the last screams of hell in his mind quiet and disappear. 

"Remember to let her into your heart," Cas sings, his hand running down Dean’s arm to his hand. Dean closes his eyes and sees the freckles on his mother’s face, the wavy blonde hair that moves freely as she smiles at him. He can hear her voice for the first time in years, singing with the man who loves him, and he doesn’t bother to stop the tear that slides down his cheek. 

"Then you can start to make it better," Cas sings softly, lacing their fingers together. Dean presses a soft kiss to Cas’s chest, and falls asleep as Cas begins to sing the second verse. 


End file.
